An Oar for an Ark
by celadonred
Summary: She tasted the water that crept into the air. It seemed to be getting heavier, but people below haven't noticed it yet. It wasn't a good taste. The scent of the rotting river, decayed flesh of various fish and perhaps humans, and various strong herbs created an extremely unpleasant taste. If she wasn't cursed, it may have killed her. [No pairings, possibly future M, Impulse plot]
1. Chapter 0

Assassin's Creed and everything that is part of it does not belong to me.

* * *

She hung her legs over the ledge of the building. It stood pale against the Italian sun and looked bleached against the warm colored bricks. It was an outrageous act, something that not even prostitutes would do, but she did not care.

Her head tilted to look down and her grey eyes glimed almost predatorily within the harsh shadow. The sun was behind her and it made her look less of a human and more of a creature. Few sensitive people below scattered, whispering things that she didn't bother to understand. The black shade hid how her small lips curled into a smile and that was a good thing for the sensitive people.

There was a part of her that was broken and it made others uneasy. It was even more so for the sensitive. There had been too many unfortunate events when she had accidentally slipped up. She tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Sun hurt her eyes and she thought she might go blind, but then she realised that the tissues were already repairing themselves. A drop of tear rolled down from her eyes and more continued to roll down until she finally closed them.

Dull grey hair fell around her. It curled and seemed to be white under the sun. It didn't gleam and it looked much like the hair of a dead. It contrasted with her youthful face and framed her as if cheap fabric bed within a casket. It only reached to her shoulders, but the color framed her entire body.

Dark cloth was scattered around her on the roof. It was old but the fabric had yet to fray. There were dark stains and anyone passing by would know that it was not just a simple spill of the wine that caused it. A rotten smell drifted across the thick fabric and she knew that others hated the smell.

The clothing she wore now was outrageous. A very short pants, perhaps a kind of underwear, covered to her thighs and exposed the rest of the legs. No cloth was around her top area save for a small cloth that wrapped around the breast once. Her torso was riddled with scars and the cloth looked as if it was covering the scars rather than her breasts. It was possibly worse than wearing nothing and she knew she looked less than a prostitute in them.

Sky seemed pale but she knew it would rain during the night. She tasted the water that crept into the air. It seemed to be getting heavier, but people below haven't noticed it yet. It wasn't a good taste. The scent of the rotting river, decayed flesh of various fish and perhaps humans, and various strong herbs created an extremely unpleasant taste. If she wasn't cursed, it may have killed her. Her thoughts lingered on the subject of her death for a while, but she abandoned it. It never worked out at the end and the conclusions only served to dilute her sanity.

"Blood for blood."

The words escaped her mouth and for a moment she wondered what she had said. A shrill laughter escaped her when she realised her words and she rolled around on her dark cloth and wrapped a sleeve around her eyes. Her lips didn't move after that single shrill laughter, but her throat moved as if it was swallowing something too large.

Sometimes she didn't know what she was doing here. She had been a figment of imagination that had come alive. It didn't please her to know that she didn't belong here and she could only wait until the ark would realize and take her someplace else. She wouldn't belong there either; but she liked changes. She had to like changes.

Asher got up and put the dark clothing around her. The outer coat was too large, but there were enough layers of other dark clothing beneath to make up and fill the excess space. It hid all of her scars and slender figure. She tied her hair and she pulled it tight against her scalp to do so. She'd need to get more dyes for it again, it always turned grey too fast.

The hood covered her face and then some more. The shade was too dark against her skin and it made her look colorless and lifeless. The leather around her wrists were tight and her hands looked too thin and long until she put on dark colored gloves. Her entire being stood out against the pale bleached surface of the roof. It looked like a black spot of something horrid on a parchment. All the subtle changes of the greys were ignored under the harsh sun and she didn't like it.

It was the third floor, but she knew she could take it. Her bones were too strong to break from such a weak height and despite the heavy metal around her, it still wasn't enough weight to shatter her legs. Sometimes Asher wished that she could be weak; just so that she wouldn't have to experience the responsibility that came with it. Sometimes, she just acted like how she was acting now and tried to forget about it altogether.

Her rib cage hurt and she was reminded of the fresh scar. It had taken three days to heal despite the organs that had threatened to spill out from it. She landed with a very faint thud. Not even her sword made any noise.

Asher looked up at the sky again. It was unfortunate that she was to have fallen in this world. Someone once told her, had he been a vampire? It had been someone immortal but not like her, that those who had power and time ought to focus on being good. The path of evil was too easy for those with too much power and time. She had felt like a piece of trash next to his nobility.

The buildings were close to each other. There was barely enough room for three people to pass through and the sun couldn't reach the half brick, half dirt pathways. People saw her land, but looked away just as quickly as they saw her. She knew she stank of rotten blood and the people around this area knew the scent of blood. It hazed around her and dulled her senses. She liked it. Her grey eyes seemed to gleam beneath the hood again before turning into a corner, then another, then another, then another, then another, until she nearly lost track of how many corners she had turned.

A solid looking oak door stood before her. She didn't know why it was oak, just that she had paid too much for the place. Her pocket lacked anything but gold and not even a single change of lire could be found. Her work wasn't cheap enough and she wasn't cheap enough to have any silver in her pocket.

It opened without a sound. The key felt heavy in her pocket again and she closed the door silently behind her. The knob needed to be held up at a certain angle as it was opened, or a horrendous creaking sound alerted everyone around the house of its activity. The house was dark, damp and cold. It was unlike the outside that was hot and bright. Asher moved by the fireplace and wondered if she wanted to enjoy a luxury of resting in front of a small fire, but decided against it. She did have a job that was to be executed in seven hours or so. It didn't have to be too precise. Despite her skill set as a silent killer, she was skilled with sword enough to keep dozens of guards at bay. Even if she hadn't, it would only cut her flesh and she would just bleed on the cold floor. Possibly they would try to saw her head off, but they wouldn't be able to cut the muscles.

It was a perk of being immortal.

The sarcastic thought lingered and she momentarily thought about professionalism. She had been lacking in the area, but she had enough skills to cover it. At least enough for now, despite her proficiency in killing, she didn't enjoy the act of dealing the final blow. The way the flesh squelched with blood and the twitching of the muscles moved up from the blade to the sensitive nerves of her hands. She felt their death possibly before they did and it was a dirty feeling.

But it paid well and despite not liking the job, it was a job. Even if she was immortal, she still felt hunger and she still liked eating. Asher could live on for centuries without eating if she had to, but that would mean that she'd feel the tinge of dissatisfaction everyday. She wasn't old enough to have the patience to stand not being shaken by that tinge, or maybe she was. She never tried it and she didn't intend to.

It put food on the table; flesh for flesh after all. Her thoughts always rampaged wild when her target was a helpless normal human being. It was a quick job that paid too much but she knew she could get the money. It just felt dirty and she didn't like it. It was all she could do though. It was the only thing she knew how to do well. Unless someone felt like paying for her lounging around in front of a fireplace all day long, which she loved to do, she'd have to work.

Asher didn't know the area and had barely known the language until two months ago. She was fluent now, but that was a perk of the curse. It didn't mean that she knew how to work as a wordsmith of any kind and she didn't know how women could be independent in this world. Prostitution was a choice, but she didn't like skin contact. None of her kind ever liked skin contact. So then, there was no choice and she was making excuses for herself but she didn't care because she liked to eat and it put food on the table.

Still, it didn't change the fact that it was an artist out of all people. She liked pictures and she liked the smell of old oil paintings and the way the marble reflected light. This person, from her research, was a genius too. He was brilliant; not too much so to be called crazy but just enough to advance the society. She liked those people and she liked seeing someone create things because she couldn't.

The name on the piece of parchment on top of the rotting table was written in scrawling delicate calligraphy that was filled with jagged emotions. It was a lot of coins for simple jealousy, but the man who hired her was a noble and as nobles did, had too much coins in his pockets. The name seemed elegant enough, or maybe impoverished compared to the extravagance of Italia. It even had the dramatic hint of an educated peasant.

The parchment read: Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci.


	2. Chapter 1

Assassin's Creed and everything that is part of it does not belong to me.

* * *

All the worlds she had visited had been unusual. In the world she originated from, she had been a mere figment of imagination or something less as they treated her less than how they would treat animals. They had rejected her out of the society and the ark was developed to pick the rejects and send them off in a manner much like how trash would be sent to some landfill. But that world didn't have magic until her own kind begin to pop up. It had been 'normal'.

The places ark dropped her off at were all abnormal. There were magic, impossibly advanced science and creatures other than human beings. She had met many different kinds of vampires, werewolves, elves, fairies, whatever they were called in their language. They differed for each places and she remembered vampires being especially different.

The name of the noble vampire escaped her memory, but he had been the normal for that world. She had met, and killed, creatures that were monsters who were called vampires in the language of the world. But that had been a different world and even fairies were creatures of evil. Asher always thought it was strange that she had never visited hell and that she had never seen demons and angels. They had existed in the language of all the places she had visited, but she had never seen them. That didn't feel right to her and she was just thinking too much now.

Asher twirled a piece of metal between her fingers. It was thin and too sharp to be a mere kitchen utensil. It could still slice meat, but it just sliced it too well. It was thin enough to be slipped between the joints without much resistance and she figured if she sharpened it and made it for one-usage only, as the blade would become too thin to be recovered after usage, it could slice bone like it was tofu. Asher had liked fried tofu with bit of soy sauce and vinegar mixture. That seemed a long time ago and she had only been in this world's Italy for somewhere around four to five months. It'd be another century at the least until she was picked up by the ark again.

It was easy for her to become distracted away from life. She was immortal and all immortals knew how to deal with the boredom that came with living for a long time. It was running away and mortals didn't have time to do that, but immortals did. It was an unfair advantage of the mortals, she thought.

The parchment just lingered there on top of the table and all of a sudden she didn't want to work that night. If she just went and paid the man all she had and just sat in the house, the parchment would eventually decay and crumble to dust. That was a tempting thought, but she'd have to stay in the house and watch it decay because that was just a part of being immortal.

The knife twirled nicely in her fingers and Asher momentarily thought about it slicing through her fingers. It was a bloody thought that lacked pain and she knew that she had gotten used to one of the many things that immortals should stay away from getting used to. There was a certain danger in every immortal. The possibility for them to become insane got higher as generations passed and with the time in their hands, they were usually a force too much for the world. If the immortal belonged in that world and the world allowed it, they usually had an opposition of a kind to balance things out. In the world she was born in, it had been the ark.

The parchment bothered her, but again she was thinking too much and trying too hard to find an excuse from the past. She was always thinking about the past, future wasn't exciting enough for her.

The temperature dropped and her tongue felt less warmer. Her stomach felt uneasy, even though she never got sick from eating anything, and her eyelids suddenly felt sleepier. Her own body was rejecting this. It was a normal human being who was fairly harmless by himself and had no skills in fighting whatsoever. He was handsome and charming and he was harmless and he was weak and he was someone she had to murder. But of course, a job was a job and it paid for her meals and she didn't like going hungry even if it didn't kill her and she was a selfish being because all immortals were selfish and she wasn't even a human so she shouldn't have problem killing outside of her own race.

Except, she did. She had lots of problems killing weak creatures.

Asher stopped the knife and the blade's end was pointed towards the ceiling. Why in the world had she accepted this job? The thought bothered despite her knowing exactly why. It paid well and she would have to kill for few years. It was one life for many but it was an unfair trade for that one life.

The best she could do was to give the man a silent and quick, painless death. There was some hope that perhaps the artist would possibly be able to afford her, in which case she could leave being a hired killer altogether. The only job available would most likely be a model, but she knew the possibility was slim for her. She wasn't pretty and her body was too slender and muscular to be the ideal of this world. The sword made a rustling noise as she stood up from the chair and threw the knife at the parchment in pointless fit of anger. The blade sank through the paper and through the wood; she'd have to polish the blade again sometime later.

Right now, she had a job to do and she knew it was time because her body had been built for the purpose of silent killing and everything she was was once associated with taking lives. The years had frayed the collar around her neck, but it still lingered. She couldn't create, only replicate what was there and her sketches were always emotionless with the tactical aspects highlighted.

But she didn't want to go.

It was immature and she was, goodness who knew how old she was now? It was just really immature and unprofessional and she missed the time she had when she joined the military. They gave commands and they were easy because she didn't have to think and she wasn't making decisions. She missed it horribly.

Her body didn't want to move either and she thought about putting it off. But five years! Five years without blood! That was tempting and she was slowly caving. Finally she got up, it was the time between late evening and night, and found herself in the shades. Very few noticed her and even when they did notice her, most thought of it as a figment of their imagination or possibly some shadow of vegetation.

It was too easy walking unnoticed in the streets. The mottled grey and blue hid her in the shadows well enough and just by holding everything of her back, people walked by. There were no cameras to worry about and no lasers to watch out for. It was incredibly easy and she knew it was easier to get away with killing. DNA wasn't even named here yet, or at least she didn't think it was and even if it was named, majority of the people didn't know it, and she didn't have to worry about leaving behind a hair or some skin cells.

Her thoughts kept distracting her and she hated that too. She didn't have to calculate cameras and heighten her senses to take in every single information around the area. With nothing to occupy her and keep her mind busy, she couldn't stop thinking about killing a helpless human. It was wrong and even if she'd forget it later on, it was still wrong.

Life was never black and white, but she at least knew that she was more on the darker grey side than lighter grey. It was an excuse, the word seemed to be repeating in her life today, but it was true. It wouldn't take her more than three years to forget about it. Her mind would have broken a long time ago if she thought about every helpless beings she murdered.

Asher thought she felt someone's eyes on her, but ignored it. It was probably smarter to take note of it and her instinct told her to. But she ignored it. If she was to be stopped by someone and as long as it was reasonable, she could place the fault on the information given to her and drop the work without damaging her reputation. She hoped that whoever kept looking at her would injure her enough for her to retreat.

The doorway felt secluded as she opened the prehistoric lock. It didn't even attempt to stop her and the door opened with small groan only she could hear. Candles flickered and the artist didn't seem to notice her. Someone moved towards her and she took a slow and silent path towards her target. It was longer than necessary.

It'd have been nice if she was young enough to believe that she was being cautious. Asher was too skilled and too old to know that she was just delaying the killing strike. Whoever it was, he was standing in front of the door and knocking on it heavily now. A sense of relief came, but now her target was focused on getting to the door.

His back was in front of her and all she needed was extend her arm and it'd be so easy, just let the blade sink in that sweet spot and the brain wouldn't be able to get oxygen it needs and then a fast blow to the head to prevent the brain from feeling it and it'd all be so easy. His cape was so close to her and it nearly touched her as he moved and she couldn't stop thinking about the way the blade would feel between his neck and the shock and the blood and she couldn't stop thinking about the guilt she would feel and forget and the coins she would get. Asher only needed to bring down that arm now.

The lock clicked open and the man, he filled the doorway, pushed the artist away to the side. Asher's blade sank into the leather and she felt it scratch the bone. It was a blur and she had intended for the blade to sink into the artist's neck. Even if she hadn't been taking it seriously and had limited her senses, the mortal had beat her in reaction speed.

She saw him pull his arm away and the blade slipped out and another blade slid out of his arm and- and? She just blinked as her body told her that she had been stabbed in the stomach. Right on the organ and just that right amount of strength into the jab; so perfectly done that it'd have killed mortal bodies almost immediately.

"10-pointer."

Asher laughed.


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you for the review wurr trudy!

I really didn't want to write this chapter before I got my hands on ACII game script, but I somehow churned it out. (That's why it's so short That and I have an essay due in 12 hours.)  
But yes, I don't have ACII with me to check on the dialogues. I'm hoping to find the script soon and if someone has it, I'd be thankful if you could PM it to me.

Anyways;

Assassin's Creed and everything that is part of it does not belong to me.

* * *

The laughter aside, Asher's body was screaming. Her first instinctual thought was to drive the blade through the arm and tear apart the muscles before stabbing the Italian in the neck. It shouldn't be too hard, considering that naive look of shock on his face. She doubted that he would be able to dodge it and even if he did, he'd probably make a fool of himself in the process. He had killed, but he hadn't killed enough to become used to it. His killings were probably fueled by some ugly emotion.

Her eyes met his and he took a quick intake of breath before stepping inside and closed the door as he did so. The blade pushed even further into her sparse body and she was glad that he had some sane mind to close the door at the very least. It would have been troublesome if a guard or someone of the like would take notice and decide to do what they were paid to do. She didn't need anyone witnessing her 'death' and notice her curse. The rumors would spread, she never took enough care to mask it, but she just didn't want that to be now. Being dissected alive twice was more than enough. She may go insane on the third and especially with the lack of sanitary she had witnessed, it'd just be gross.

Italian pulled the blade out halfway before stabbing it in again. The blade brushed against her spine and a screeching sound rang through her body. It felt similar to claws against blackboard, but worse as the noise started within her body and rang through her nerves. It took all of her will to force her fingers loose and keep herself away from the small knife. If she lacked even a tiny bit of will, she'd have driven the small blade up the arm and tear the muscles of the mortal beyond repair.

Few drops of blood escaped from between her lips and slid down her chin in a cliche manner. The damage had been severe and her body told her that the organs around the injury had shattered. Her tongue felt pieces of flesh amongst the blood. It tasted horrible, but she forced it back down her throat. It would slow her healing process, but she wanted him to believe that he had missed enough to not take a life.

She glanced over and saw that the artist was still crumpled on the floor. His mouth was open with shock and his legs didn't seem to be functioning. A sigh escaped from her lips and thin mist of blood gathered in the exhaled breath. She felt the blade flinch and damage the organs further. That wouldn't do. It wouldn't be nice if it didn't heal within a week. She didn't like the healing process; the itch was worse than the pain.

Asher stepped back and the blade slid out from the flesh wound. Few drops of blood ran down from the blade and she found that the cloth masked most of the blood. Italian had a fierce look in his eyes and she knew what that ugly emotion was. It had been anger. The hidden blade slashed at her, but it was hasty and the movement was too large. The blade of her hand contacted with that soft flesh in the inner arm and knocked it off the intended path. She followed up with a fast snapping front kick and frowned when it ended up nicking the chin. She had missed again.

It was more than enough though. Italian collapsed on the ground and his brain was yelling panic at him. Asher looked down at him for a while before turning her gaze onto the artist. He looked shocked and dazed. She didn't blame him. It had probably happened too fast for anyone 'normal' to know what was going on. The sequence of actions had taken less than ten twenty seconds. The last few bits had been few seconds at the most but her senses seemed to malfunction and she couldn't tell the exact time.

Her tongue felt red as she licked her lips clean of blood and swallowed it down. She would have spat it on the wooden floor, but her throat was more blood than air. She'd have broken her facade rather easily with a single spit. Her eyes went down to the heap of white; nothing looked broken and it looked as if it'd be a clean recovery. She licked her lips again as she raised her foot. It was a slow and delicately dramatic movement. She heard the artist suck air in horror as she brought her foot down on the Italian's ankle. There was a single sickening crack, but she knew it'd heal clean. It was just a small revenge of pain for that feeling of blade scratching the spine.

Before she went out into the streets, she looked back at the artist. Small drops of her blood lingered on the floor and all over the hidden blade, she even saw few drops on the white fabric. Her own small blade was still embedded in the Italian's arm, it wouldn't bleed until it was taken out and the blade was regretfully too sharp and clean for infections, and it felt like her loss. She closed the door silently and she knew it unnerved the artist.

The artist took a quick breath before testing his legs. It was still too weak and so instead, he crawled towards Ezio. It was a short distance and he was relieved to see the white fabric rustle with every breath the Italian took. The crack at the end didn't sound too good, but Leonardo was more worried about that kick. He couldn't catch it, but he saw Ezio's head move back and Leonardo was sure that the kick had missed. Then Ezio had staggered before collapsing onto the ground as if he was drunk out of his wits.

Leonardo checked the pulse anyways and Ezio was breathing steadily. It didn't look like the Italian could stand or even move his arm properly without flailing. Leonardo thought about dragging Ezio on top of a canvas or something, but then remembered about the crack. It was a sickening sound that lingered in his bones. He never thought the sound of bone breaking could possibly be so loud and clear. His legs were still too weak to stand and the artist silently prayed curses in his head.

It took a while to get the boot off of Ezio. Leonardo knew he couldn't get up anytime soon, the shock seemed to be creeping up in his thoughts now, and so he decided to check the broken bone. Every time the boot was pulled the wrong way, a pained grunt came from Ezio. It was a painstaking process, but he was a trained artist with stable hands. He eventually got the damned thing off and he could see the swelling flesh. He felt around it and he heard Ezio's teeth grinding. It was definitely broken and Leonardo frowned.

"How is it?"

A cross voice broke Leonardo's thoughts. Ezio was still sprawled on the ground and Leonardo could practically feel the heat of anger radiating from his friend's eyes. It was bloody, but after that image of death, he felt as if he could just ignore it and not be bothered by it.

"It's broken. I'll make something to help the healing process, but it'd be better if you'd just stay in bed."

Leonardo replied and flopped back on the ground. The shock was getting to him and he felt both exhilarated and exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to sleep but his mind was too bright and colorful. The images went over and over, repeating.

"You got stabbed!"

The artist sat up with a start and exclaimed. Ezio merely grunted in response.

"I'll find a doctor."

"Oh no you won't."

Leonardo frowned and spoke as sternly as he possibly could under the circumstances. His legs felt strong again, he didn't know how, and he got back onto his feet.

"I think I won't make you that support for the ankle. You really should stay in bed."

"Leonar-"

"Yes, you should definitely stay in bed. You did get hurt saving my life."

Ezio closed his eyes. His ears still rang and he was more than sure that he'd collapse the moment he sat up. He had to agree that laying down helped it go away and he knew it'd help speed up the recovery, but he had things to do and they were important. He silently cursed the woman. If she had just left, he should have been thankful that she spared his life but he didn't care for that now, then his ankle would have been fine. The injury on the arm wasn't a big deal since he could still run around with it, but the ankle was the crushing blow. With the names of all the gods he could think of, he prayed curses upon the woman.


End file.
